Collaborative Solutions
by windscryer
Summary: Peggy is absolutely capable of breaking a low-level accountant by herself, but she is not averse to giving Steve the chance to lend those beautiful biceps of his to the cause of freedom either. Gen/Ambiguous pairings/CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE SHIPS


This is absolutely musicalluna's fault, damn her and her pretty imagery.

As to ships in the fic… idefk? Like, it's pre-ice Peggy and post-ice Steve and I don't even know what year it is don't ask me about who's hooked up with who. They're all friends I know that much? But, you ask, is it Steve/Peggy? Steve/Tony? Steve/Tony/Peggy? How about reader's choice? Yeah, I like that. CHOOSE YOUR OWN SHIP. *shoos on to story*

FYI this is literally only a crossover because it's the only way to get both Peggy and Steve as characters without choosing CA:TFA as the fandom and that's not _precisely_ correct. Whatever. *glares at FFN*

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Steve approached the door, painted an institutional green that reminded him of hospitals back in the day—the few times his ma or Bucky could scrape together enough to take him to one—and nodded to the black-uniformed agents flanking it. The one on the right looked at Steve, scanning his full hands and then nodded, a slight smirk curling the man's lips. Steve nodded back in appreciation as the door was opened.

Peggy sat to his left, hands folded on top of a brown file, her eyes locked on the man across the table. In contrast to her neat appearance, every hair tucked in place, her jacket and skirt smooth and crisp, her opponent looked like a mess. A hot mess, Tony would probably say if he were here, though maybe not. Steve was picking up on more slang than the others thought, but not everything made enough sense for him to feel comfortable using it.

Silently he bent and set the saucer and teacup on the table in front of her, the spoon settling next to the cup with a clink.

"Thank you, Captain," she said, looking away just long enough to offer him a smile.

He retreated to the corner where a light had burnt out years ago and never quite been replaced. It was one of the reasons this was Peggy's favorite room. He wedged himself comfortably in place, crossing his arms over his chest.

His gaze settled on the rumpled man across the room whose clothes had been as neat as Peggy's when he'd been brought in, but between his "processing" and the last few hours waiting alone in this room, he—a Mr. David Tennyson—wasn't looking so good. His tie had been tugged loose and the buttons of his jacket undone. The light charcoal silk had darkened under his arms and the whole thing was wrinkled now as he crossed and uncrossed his arms over his chest.

His eyes were on Steve, but the darkness of the corner and the brightness of the light over Tennyson's head—tilted at just the right angle to shine toward their guest, but not enough to be obviously so—made it impossible for him to see much of anything in detail, Steve knew. He must have been able to see Steve's arms crossed though because he started to do the same, then glanced back and forth between Peggy and Steve and reconsidered. He leaned forward on the table, mirroring her pose instead, but the slump of his shoulders and the whiteness of his knuckles belied his attempt at confidence.

"Look," he said, "I told you everything I know, which isn't much. I'm not on that side of things, you know? Nobody trusts me because I keep my nose clean." He jerked a thumb back at his own chest and leaned back again. Steve watched him go through the motions of trying to decide what to do with his arms before he gave up and crossed them over his chest. He looked like Bucky when his ma would scold him for not getting his chores done before supper.

Peggy waited a beat, then said—no doubt with that sweet smile of hers, "No, of course not. And you'll continue to keep it clean here, Mister Tennyson. I'm not asking you to divulge any of your brothers' unsavory dealings. But you are their accountant, correct? I'd just like you to confirm some of their recent transactions."

He gave her a wary look, scrutinizing her face for any hint of a lie. She picked up her cup and sipped at the tea, keeping her gaze on him just as steady.

"I don't have them all memorized," he said. "We do business in fourteen states from Florida up to Connecticut and west all the way to the Mississippi. I might not be sure of the numbers, you know? I'm not trying to hide anything here, I just want you to understand. But if you give me a list I could double-check them and get back to you this evening."

"That's quite all right. Just do the best that you can," Peggy said. She set her cup back down and slid the file across the metal table, flipping open the cover and tapping the page. "Just these numbers here, if you would. Just tell me if anything looks out of place as best you remember."

Tennyson gave her another wary look as he sat up, then bent his head and examined the page. It took him almost a full minute, but most of that was him waiting it out. Steve could see his answer in the first three lines of the ledger.

"Nope," he said, leaning back again. "Nothing untoward. All in order—as best I remember."

Peggy sipped her tea again. "You're sure? Not a decimal or numeral out of place?"

His eyes flicked to the page again, but he shook his head and reached out, closing the file. "I'm sure. It's all exactly as it should be."

She stared him down again and Steve could almost see the sweat pop out on his forehead. The wait stretched into a full minute and Steve shifted his weight and flexed his fingers, the creak of his fingerless leather gloves loud in the silence.

"Look," Tennyson said, sitting forward again, running a hand through his hair and leaving it sticking up in sweaty spikes. "I don't know what you want from me, those numbers are exactly what they should be."

"As far as you remember," Peggy said.

He hesitated a fraction of a second. "Yeah. Yeah, as far as I remember."

"Mmm," Peggy hummed. Then she reached out suddenly and he flinched back, though all she did was place her fingers on the folder and slide it back to herself. "Very well then. Thank you for your cooperation, Mister Tennyson," she said, reopening the file and perusing it again. "Captain Rogers will show you out."

Tennyson glanced at Steve, then back at Peggy. "That's… that's it?"

She glanced up. "That's it." He couldn't see it, but he knew her eyebrow was arching. "Unless of course you have something else to share?"

The chair screeched on the concrete floor as it was pushed back in a hurry. "No. No, I'm— I'm good. Thank you. I'll just… thank you."

"Of course," Peggy said, smiling as Steve rounded the table. "Do have yourself a good day."

"Y-you too," Tennyson stammered as he backed up into the wall at Steve's approach. He cringed back, hands coming up defensively when Steve reached up with a fist to knock on the window.

Steve gave him an arched eyebrow and got a bobbing throat and a mild scowl in return.

The door swung wide and Tennyson scuttled out into the hall, awkwardly bumping past the agents as he refused to take his eyes off Steve.

The door shut behind them on Peggy's head bent over the file, one finger idly curling around the teacup's handle.

Tennyson's eyes darted both ways down the hall and Steve gestured to the right. "This way."

He stood there until Tennyson realized he was going to have to go first and set off at a brisk pace down the hall. Steve kept half a step behind, enough to see his face but not so much that Tennyson lost the feeling of being chased.

They rounded the corner and Tennyson finally let his watch on Steve slip, eyes searching for the exit. Steve moved quickly then, grabbing Tennyson's arm and flipping him around, slamming his back against the wall just out of sight of both the reception desk and the agents at the room's door.

A flailing hand came up in a sloppy defense, but got in a lucky hit and clipped the side of Steve's face. He felt Tennyson's large class ring cut the skin and a trickle of warm blood slid down the side of his face. He just grabbed the hand and pinned it against the wall, staring slightly down into Tennyson's terrified eyes.

"One last question before you go," Steve said.

"I swear to God, I don't know anything else. I swear to fucking God. Bradley's the one who does all the under the table shit. Bradley and Eddie and Christina. I don't know anything. I swear I don't know anything. They don't even let me see those books, I swear. I've never even seen them."

Steve waited a moment longer, his grip tightening when Tennyson tried to buck free. A second attempt had a knee coming up to his groin, but Steve knocked it aside with his own and trapped the soft leather shoe under his sturdy boot. He pressed until Tennyson squeaked, then held it there.

He searched the eyes in front of him for another long minute, but nothing else was forthcoming besides more empty vows and the repetition of those three names. The men were Tennyson's brothers if Steve remembered the file correctly.

Steve nodded and stepped back, letting him go. He half slid down the wall before he caught himself.

"Thank you for your cooperation," he said sincerely. Then he crossed his arms over his chest again and jerked his head to the right. "Exit's that way. Go."

Tennyson skittered along the wall and then stumbled a few steps before he got going. Steve turned to go back to tell Peggy about the new name: Christina.

He'd only taken one step when he felt his instincts kick up a fuss, whirling back and deflecting the knife that Tennyson had been aiming at his gut. He grabbed the wrist and twisted, hearing the bone crack and Tennyson's scream of pain. A second fist came at his face at the same time as the foot on the same side. He blocked the foot and took a glancing blow from the fist on his jaw. It gave him the opportunity to get a more solid grip on his opponent and he lifted him up and flipped him over, bringing him down on the marble floor with a crack of his skull and a few popping ribs.

He stayed there a moment, but Tennyson wasn't getting back up. Removing the knife from the limp hand it was clasped in, he straightened and handed it off to the agents who came up at a run. "Mr. Tennyson hasn't had enough of our hospitality it seems," he told the senior agent. "See if you can find him some new accommodations that are more to his liking."

"Yes, sir," the agent said and then he and his partner reached down and cuffed Tennyson, hauling him up.

Steve touched his head and winced, then turned and headed back to Peggy.

"Did he give you the name of— Steve!" she said, jumping up when she saw his face.

"No, Bucky's the one that first called me Steve." She leveled a glare and he let the crooked smile fade away. "I'm fine," he assured her. "He got in a lucky blow or two, that's all."

She pursed her lips and pointed to the seat she'd vacated and he sighed and sat.

"Really, Peg, it's nothing. I got worse from Bobby Pickerel in the alley behind the butcher's— Ow!" he jerked away from her probing fingers and gave her a glare. She returned it with an arched eyebrow.

"Yes, I can see how fine it is."

"Well it'll heal anyway," he said, then worked his jaw. It was a little sore, though it'd be fine before bedtime probably. It hadn't been much of a punch.

She grasped his chin in her tiny fingers and turned his head to get a look at that too.

After a moment she let him go and he started to rise, but she put a hand on his shoulder. He subsided and looked up at her.

"My dear Captain," she said, cupping his tender jaw and dabbing at the cut on his temple with her thumb. He stared up at her until she bent and kissed his forehead. His eyes fell shut at the warm press of her lips, her fingers cradling his jaw as the tips feathered the hairs at the back of his neck. "Thank you, that was perfect."

"Anything I can do to help," he said, grinning when she ducked and kissed the tip of his nose. His hands came up to cup her elbows and her hands slid back and down over his shoulders until she was hugging his head to her stomach and his hands came to rest on her waist.

"There is just one thing I'd like you to do better next time."

He tilted his head back. "Yeah?"

"Do try not to get hurt, darling. You know how Tony fusses when I return you in less than pristine condition."

He laughed and hugged her waist, her hands coming back up to comb through his hair. "You don't know the half of it."

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Tell me about your burning love for this fic. Tell me about your icy hatred of it. Tell me what ship you sailed. I don't care what you tell me, just use that little button and tell me something!


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